The Immortals
by Flipping Seltzer
Summary: What happens when two people wait 1500 years for a King to pop out of a lake. Epic tales of bromance starring Merlin and Leon. Because let's be honest- Leon's never going to die. And Merlin can only skulk alone by a lake for so long before he gets put on some kind of list. One Shots.
1. Chapter 1

AN: A series of one shots that revolve around Merlin and Leon. I was struck by the fact that Leon can't die- what if he literally CAN'T die? I mean, the man bounces back from everything, well what if the Cup of Life meant that he embodied life forever? What if it froze him in time and made him immoral? And if so, wouldn't he and Merlin be hanging out, shooting the breeze? Because honestly if you had to live forever wouldn't you want to know if one of your friends was stuck on earth too?

So basically this is a bunch of drabbles where Leon and Merlin are dealing with their immortality and waiting for their friends to be reincarnated so they can hurry up and die already. Some happy, some sad, different eras, a lot of bromance between the two- because come on, we all know we wanted to see more of the knights bonding with Merlin in the show. And it must have totally sucked for Leon and Percival to be the only ones who lived.

I disclaim.

Everlasting

Everlasting. The young man stared into his reflection, looking for any sign of age, of a wrinkle or hair that would declare his youth over.

But there was nothing. There never was.

Leon stared at himself in the breastplate, the armor warping his features with its contours. There were plenty of mirrors in his house and the street was full of shining surfaces but he preferred the old comfort of silver, of his expression mirrored back in polished metal rather than the strange (at least it felt that way to him) fabricated material of the new era. He sighed, he, the everlasting moment, the incredible undying knight... the last.

Gently he placed the metal back on its cushion, careful not to harm it in any way. There were no more blacksmiths to pound out dents, no more servants to polish flaws. His amour, if he presented it to anyone, would be worth thousands of pounds, a collector's item. It had no place in the world now. Neither did he.

Although he was in peak physical condition, his knees creaked with age as he stood. His body was tired as it climbed the stairs up from his vault like basement. He didn't look back on the room, filled with medieval treasures, as he locked the door and made his way to the main entryway. Mary, his housekeeper, had left his coat and briefcase beside the door, a mug of coffee waiting on the side table with his keys. The woman herself was nowhere to be found, probably in the kitchen doing something- over a thousand years and Leon was still wary of taking care of himself. He preferred to let others subtlety boss him around, whether it be Mary or a prince or a wife.

It was a flaw, a ruminant of a life too long lived as a noble. But it was a flaw he embraced.

"Hello James."

"Hello Sir." He chauffeur replied. Stepping into the car, Leon tried not to wince at the loud noise emanating from the radio. "Sorry Mr. Blackwell." As soon as James slid into the drivers street he turned off the music. "I forgot."

"It's fine. Let's go." Those damn radios. Damn cars. Why was everything so loud these days? So overwhelming. Leon sank into the leather seats, the comfort bringing him no relief. He missed his horse and the woods. Missed the dull buzz of the wild. Leon leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the green disappear as they moved further and further into the city. He felt a sudden longing for Camelot, with its white stone and cool corridors- Cardiff was too grey, the cement of the city soaking up heat and misery and reminding him of times better left forgotten. "I'll be leaving early today. Be outside at 1500, alright?"

James glanced up and their eyes met in the rearview mirror. "Will do sir." James had been in the military before Leon had hired him. The old soul appreciated that, felt a kindred spirit in the young man who'd fought for his home, had thought that hiring a driver with a military background might make it easier for them to connect. But it just made Leon feel more empty- as far his employee knew he was just another lawyer, another smug aristocrat who'd never known war or hardship in life. He knew James despised him.

He was simply too tired to care.

Whatever the Cup of Life was, whatever gifts it bestowed, it was also a curse. Leon, knew, knew as he faced odds and challenges that were impossible, knew as he died and died and yet always lived, that the Druids had... changed him. The cup changed him.

His friends died. His knights, his king, his queen... his kingdom. All was gone and yet he remained, as unchanging, everlasting as a stone. Everyone... gone. But he was still alive. Camelot burned, Albion rose and fell, Arthur's son ruled brightly, and Gwen died; as her hair grayed his stayed russet. Frozen in time. He closed his eyes as they entered Cardiff, not wanting to see the metal and concrete civilization, pretending he could hear Camelot's market and the clang of swords in the courtyard. He was the man who never died, who never aged, Leon had been alive for almost fifteen hundred years, outliving his people (his purpose) and era. He was a relic who'd been forced to adapt to a changing world- six years ago he'd started a law firm, was the named partner of a powerful solicitors office. It helped, of course, that he'd been friends with his clients for decades, had known their fathers and grandfathers and was owed a certain allegiance by the areas elite. He knew all of Cardiff and most of London's powerful figures- hell he'd dined with royalty- but most knew him as the son or grandson of Leon Blackwell the I or II. At the moment he was playing his own grandson, a III, although he knew that he'd have to abandon this name soon. There was only so many times he could be the spitting image of his father before people started to ask questions.

His brick offices (he refused to work in a newer building) rose up outside the glass. "3 pm James." He reiterated as he exited, not bothering to wait for the man to come around and open the door for him.

Inside, up the elevator, past his secretary- unhappy, unhappy, unhappy. He wanted to curl up in his basement, around his real things, and never emerge. "You're late." His silent partner was in his chair, cocky and disrespectful as always.

"Sod off Merlin." Leon huffed and tossed his briefcase (empty except for a few file folders for show) into the corner. "I'm in no humor."

~Merlin~

Leon wanted to claw the grin from Merlin's face. He knew the man was as miserable has him, knew that the warlock woke up each day a little more broken when the King didn't appear. The difference was that Merlin was much better at faking it- hadn't he fooled them all for years? And so his grin was brighter, step quicker, lies more believable.

It had been the ex-servant's idea to start the law firm with their connections. He'd seen Leon's melancholy and thought that a job might lift his spirits and get his mind off old ghosts. Blackwell and Preacher was successful, but it was mostly due to Merlin's keen negotiating and quick mind that it succeeded. The ex-knight didn't feel overly fulfilled in his position, but rather upstaged and immoral. Merlin was playing the part of lowly associate, winning cases and turning Leon down the right path while the older man got all the credit; it stung Leon's honor to take credit for another's deeds- it made him flinch and remember all the other times he must have taken credit for the warlocks successes- witches and warlocks and creatures that the boy had defeated but for which he let the knights take the glory.

Merlin stood, habit making him walk over and take the coat from Leon's shoulders and the briefcase from his hand. The noble grimaced, uncomfortable with a all powerful being playing at servant, even after all these years. It was a nervous habit that only came out when Merlin was stressed or worried, and his mind was clearly on other things as he tried to fold Leon's coat like a cloak before sheepishly hooking it on the door hanger. "What's wrong?" Leon asked, dread in his voice.

The last time Merlin was this distracted he'd accidentally burnt down a square block during a flashback. It had been 1549, and the magic users post traumatic stress disorder flaring up had not been beneficial for the mostly wood based houses. Back then, of course, PTSD didn't have a name, but Leon had seen enough war to know Merlin's shell shocked expression and reaction.

They were both broken.

"Nothing, nothing." Merlin sang, mindlessly polishing and ashtray with his suit sleeve.

"Merlin." Leon sighed and sank into his chair. It was still warm, meaning Merlin's body must have rested for a while in it supple leather- he'd been waiting.

Snapping out of his nervousness, Merlin collapsed into the chair across the desk. As ever, Leon was amazed by the man's lanky and awkward body, his limbs graceful confusion. It was like Merlin was a marionette, purposeful and yet completely out of control. "This message was waiting for Preacher this morning." The dark haired man inched a message pad across the oak desk.

Preacher was the silent partner of the firm, Merlin in reality but officially, as far as the public were aware, Leon's ancient mentor. Two years ago Merlin had given up on his old persona, tired of the beard maintenance and, according to him, of children asking if he was Dumbledore. Leon had been shocked when a young faced and freshly shaved Merlin had appeared in front of his desk but had agreed to forge a new hire and say that Preacher had 'retired.' It would have been shocking, but Merlin went through these old/young fads every few centuries and honestly, Leon was just too jaded about the man's magic to be that surprised by anything anymore. "It's a catastrophe." Merlin moaned, flopping his head into his hands. "The gods are punishing me."

Leon read through the message, a panicked and hysterical laugh bubbling up as he went over it again. "Merlin, this..." He trailed off, a grin splitting his face for the first time in weeks. "This is going to be a disaster."

Five minutes later his secretary craned her neck, trying to see in through the fogged glass. Her boss had been laughing for a half hour, the strange sound had made her smile at first, but now it was just freaking her out. What could be so funny?

_Offices of Preacher and Blackwell_

_Message from: Pendragon Industries_

_Regarding: Mr. Uther Pendragon requesting the services of firm regarding matter of employee lawsuit- unjust termination of personal assistant. Employee fired for performance failure, suing on basis of termination due to religious beliefs (Wiccan). Please respond immediately with agreement to represent of alternate proposal of representation. _


	2. Chapter 2

I disclaim.

AN: Not a future story but a little young Leon and Leon/Merlin friendship. Because Leon went from older, respected knight in season 1 to mentor in 2/3/4 to head of knights in 5 and yet didn't seem to age at all. Also, he was the only knight to survive the dragon. Coincidence? I think not.

Kindness/Resemblance

Leon was not a fool. People did not stay young forever. It was not natural to never grow old and yet he seemed to be the only aged warrior amongst young men. He was Prince's mentor, now the King's right hand and it was as if only a year past, rather than fifteen.

People forgot that he was as much a part of the old king as the new. People forgot that he knew things. And people.

People like dragonlords.

He'd only been a child when the purge began, but he remembered when magic was free and welcome in the halls of the palace. His was a minor family, noble but poor, and they relied on Uther's kindness for their wellbeing. He'd lived in Camelot all of his life, his family in residence in the grand white structure. He remembered banquets with glowing balls of light twinkling above them and sorceresses who could conjure stories with fire. There were magic users and non-magic users and each had their nobility and rules.

Entire families had been driven from Camelot's walls with the purge, some servants but some nobles.

Sir Balinor was one such man. The dragonlord had been a fleeting shadow at Uther's side for years; he had his own lands and duties as a warlock, but had fought with the kings to bring peace to Camelot and so often in the capital, offering council and relaxing with his friend. Large and dark and simmering with power, he was an intimidating figure. At eight, Leon was afraid him, this larger than life shadow that appeared on the back of fire breathing creatures. But it was at eight the young noble was forced to confront his fear.

He'd been trying to keep up with the older boys, the squires, and had quite literally fallen from the castle walls. Thankfully, a cart of hay had broken his fall, but his chest felt like someone was sitting on it, he couldn't breathe, gasping shallowly for air. "Be calm." A growling voice instructed him. A warm hand rested on his chest. " Let all the air from your lungs... now take a deep breath. You can do it- it feels like you cannot but you can- just focus on expanding your chest and not the pain." After a few minutes of instruction Leon managed to open his eyes and almost curled in on himself in seeing Lord Balinor's face above him. "Calm boy. Come on now- let's go see a healer."

Despite Leon's panic, Balinor lifted the small boy into his arms easily, holding him in his arms as he made his way to the Physician's tower. Leon tried not to flinch as he stared up at his savior. Perhaps he wasn't as scary as he appeared from a distance?

The man's dark hair was cut short, the messy inch long strands curling slightly as they grew out. His thick eyebrows and full beard covered much of his face but both were clean and trimmed, and the visible skin was tan and unlined. Blue eyes seemed to twinkle as he greeted servants in the hall and his arms were warm and reassuring.

Finally they reached the physicians tower. "Hello? Gauis? Patient for you." The warlock's voice boomed out around the barren tower. "Lad's had a slight tumble from the battlemats."

Leon looked around, curious. The old physican had recently died- a new man from town had only just come to replace him. A few boxes and vials were scattered around, a pile of herb and magic books on the long table in the center of the room. "Yes? Oh, hello my lord." A grey-streak haired man bustled in from a back room.

"No need for formalities Gaius- we've known each other long enough for you to call me by my given name." Balinor boomed with a smile, carefully depositing Leon into a cot set up by an empty fireplace.

He tried to step away as Gaius moved in but Leon was suddenly struck with fear. Balinor was intimidating, but he was familiar- this new man was an unknown, with his long robes and hair. His hand shot out to grab the dragonlords jacket, fisting the leather to tug the man back. "It's alright child." The physician smiled, trying to sooth his patient. "Well you can't blame me for being wary Balinor. It's only my first week. I must say I'm not quite sure what to do now that I'm here. Four days in and already the Queen's sick. She's been purging every morning, feeling faint- and the King expects me to diagnose her with barely a glance. I'm walking on eggshells."

Balinor's warm hand pushed back Leon's fringe reassuringly as the healer ran his hands over the boys limbs. "Nimueh and I recommended you because you're more than capable Gaius- don't let the prat bully you into anything you're not comfortable with." The physician shot a stricken look at the tall noble before glancing down at Leon. "Oh not to worry man, young Leon here is a close friend, isn't that right lad?" Balinor winked at Leon, grin spreading across his face. Despite his pain, Leon found himself smiling back.

~Merlin~

"...lad. Leon?" The knight shook himself from his memory, face shell shocked as he stared at Merlin who was offering him a bowl of something. "Did you hear me Sir Leon? Would you like some stew? I was able to make it a bit more flavorsome today- everyone else seems glad."

The light haired man accepted the stew in silence, eyes still focused on the servants features.

Merlin swept a hand over her face self consciously and then turned back to the fire to scoop up his own dinner. Leon glanced around. The rest of the knights- the few of them left- were all eating with gusto. Leon tried his own meal, pleased to find both meat and flavor in the recently tasteless mush. Even Arthur wasn't complaining, quietly speaking to Merlin as the young man settled himself beside his master.

Their group was ragtag and drawn, having been pushing themselves to patrol the border in a show of strength. It was only last month that the dragon had attacked and Leon felt like he hadn't slept since the first siege. It didn't help that the main knights were dead, killed by the beast. Leon and Arthur had been pushing these replacement men, second and third sons, lesser nobles, in training, trying to get them into fighting shape, but it was no easy task. Hell, Merlin was better with a sword than some and that was saying something.

It had been the kings idea, this rapid and far-reaching patrol and he could see the Prince's unhappiness from across the fire. Arthur had wanted to stay and help the city rebuild, to give the men more time to repair and rest, but Uther had been insistent.

Leon would have preferred they wait as well. He hadn't been sleeping well, haunted by memories of flame and terror. And of times long past.

He focused on Merlin once again. The young man hadn't had time to shave, none of them had, and although it had taken the servant's beard longer to grow in than most, after almost two weeks he'd finally sprouted a full chin of dark hair.

He thought it'd been strange, the servant riding out with them to face the dragon and living where others died; he'd chalked it up to loyal stupidity and luck. But he could have sworn, as he lay surrounded by dead comrades, feeling the vibrations of the dragons feet and it descended, and knowing death was coming, he could have sworn he heard the boys voice. Merlin's and yet... yet someone else's.

He'd passed out soon after, but the thought had tickled the back of his mind for weeks now.

It hadn't been until Merlin's beard grew in that he realized. The voice he was remembering, was thinking of- was Balinor's.

Years had passed since he'd thought of the man's kindness and remembered the name that Uther had forced from the castle's walls. Balinor, who had been warm and reassuring to a hurt boy, the dragonlord who had been betrayed by his greatest friend and cast out of their noble circle for his magic. He looked at Merlin's face and stared into a younger version of his one time hero.

Leon wasn't sure how he felt about magic. He knew it's terror- but he'd also known it's pleasure. Magic could bring safety and love as well as fear and he wasn't as quick as some of the younger knights and lords to condemn it. His mother had practiced the old religion before she'd died (long before the purge) and he could remember dancing golden horses swirling above his head. Surely his mother had not been evil?

And Balinor, the dragonlord who cared for him when the older boys had run in fear, he'd been good. Leon was sure of it.

The dragon had rather conveniently disappeared after Arthur dealt it a mortal blow. Quite a coincidence that his serving boy, a boy who was almost the spitting image of Balinor, survived and was the only one conscious to tell the tale. Leon stared at servant and master, watching the two banter and Merlin eventually concede, his dark head bending as he muttered "prat" under his breath. Once again the memory smacked Leon upside the head and clutched his bowl tight against his chest. He wondered what Uther would say if he realized his son was best friends with a man he betrayed, a boy of dragon magic. He wondered if Merlin had ever known his father, had know how kind he was to scared boys and nervous physicians.

He wondered if it broke Gaius' heart to see the boys together and think of another friendship shattered forever.

With a renewed faith in the kingdom he tucked into his stew. Things were bad, yes, but he knew that with a dragonlord on their side nothing too horrible could happen. And if it came to it, and Merlin was exposed, Leon would help the boy escape.

He had a debt to repay and a memory to honor.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This is just a baby fic that I wrote at work while hopelessly waiting for my office air conditioning to be fixed so forgive the brevity. It's just dialogue- and at the time I high on hot air and the giddiness that is only possible in freezing or boiling conditions.

I disclaim.

A Short Discussion Regarding Resturants

"No. No, no, absolutely not."

"We're going."

"Over my dead body we will be taking one step into that travesty... that... that complete and utter affront to my honor and sensibilities."

"Sensibilities huh? Well okay then Marianne, where do you suggest we eat?"

"We will find a more acceptable option, _Mer_lin! This is the 21st century, I think our options are a little more varied then they were a thousand years ago!"

"That's true. Poor Sir Flopsalot."

"What?!"

"Flopsalot. It was what I named the bunny we murdered in the forest."

"There were a lot of bunnies."

"I know. It was more of an honorary title than an actual, you know, name. I just felt bad, killing all those rabbits indiscriminately."

"It's not as if we were wasting them."

"Oh I know. It's not a moral thing, necessarily, just... I mean I was the one that had to skin- I thought a little ceremony would let them know their sacrifice was not in vain."

"You were really bored in the forest weren't you?"

"Well its not as if Arthur would let me hunt."

"Can you blame him? The two times I ever saw you with a crossbow you tried to shoot him!"

"Hey! The first time was an accident- who know those triggers were so sensitive? And the second time I was being controlled by Morgana so that doesn't count at all."

_Humpf._ "You seemed to be enjoying it a little too much in my opinion."

"Can we get back on topic, please Leon? Were are we going to eat?"

"You know, for a little person, you think about food an awful lot."

"I'm wiry."

"Whatever you say. Listen this is a big city, there's got be something else."

"No this is a tourist trap, a fake city. See how the all the telephone poles look like mouse heads? That's not what real life or real cities are like."

"Oh- I just thought it was some sort of American prank."

"We really need to get you out more. What about this?"

"No. No places with fake dinosaurs or dragons. You know how I feel about unusally sized reptiles."

_Cough, _"sissy," _cough._

"It was tramatic Merlin! There was fire!"

"Fine then, what about eating in the park? The Magic Kingdom?"

"No castles! Especially not glowing pink ones."

"That was for the princess parade Leon. It's not always pink."

"It was pink once. That's enough."

"Then, we're back to option one. Becuase I'm not driving to Orlando so you get a non-themed dinner."

"You're not driving anywhere- you've no liscense!"

"That doesn't count in America. Besides, you've no linscese either. Which means we're trapped in the radius surrounding this hotel or the park."

"We'll have to take the shuttle to get to the park. It'll take forever."

"Then let's just go across the street!"

"I'm _not_ eating at Medieval Times Merlin! What kind of knight jousts at dinner!?"


End file.
